Enigma
by actinic
Summary: Ginny Weasley analyses those around her, especially one Draco Malfoy.


There was a slightly old-fashioned air to him, as if he had somehow stepped through a ripple in time, only to arrive in the same room he left. Still, the walls around him reflected his formal air, and yet that wasn't the reason for his oddity.

Actually, Ginny thought, it was hard to place what was not odd about Draco Malfoy. There weren't many boys... no, men. He was a man now. Still, there weren't many men who could stand perfectly still and yet still make people part in front of him. Strange that. Like there was an aura which stretched out in front of him like an arrow, not piercing, but rather swerving through a crowd, leaving in it's wake a silvery path by which he could follow. Always silver too, even to the point of irony - that his blonde hair, which should be golden, was instead so very blonde as to become the opposite, a pale silver, like mercury mixed with snow.

Of course that was the point, really. If you had the opportunity to contemplate the enigma that was Draco Malfoy without him noticing then you could not bear not to satisfy the curiosity formed. She glanced around the hall then, realising her own naivety. She was hardly the only one to be glancing, or in some cases flat-out staring at his progress towards the Slytherin table. She was one of many, one of the widely varying mixture of people fascinated by him, whether it be because of his fragile beauty, his quick grey eyes, or purely the contrast he gave to the rest of the student body.

He sat now, with a nod to Blaise Zabini opposite to him, returned equally as formally, and a wary incline of his head to the Slytherin girls, causing Pansy to twitter like a small rodent even with that smallest of gestures. And then he too looked around the hall, hardly being one to not survey the territory he was placed in, hostile or not. And there was another ripple - the effect of students hurriedly blushing, suddenly finding their housemate's jokes incredibly amusing, coincidentally swishing their hair across their shoulders in an attempt at being alluring, hiding behind books, or knocking various breakfast implements all over the place. Ginny was for once without a reaction, and, as though her stream of consciousness had suddenly matured greatly in only two minutes, she felt her mind's self shake her head condescendingly at past memories of herself joining that great tide of movement, by any one of those actions made to draw attention from him, or divert it away. So instead she kept her eyes on him, without an apologetic biting of her bottom lip as his eyes met hers for the briefest of milliseconds, but instead keeping her face steady, and the look of one trying to work out an immensely complicated arithmancy equation staying firmly in her eyes, almost begging for a challenge as to why she should even bother to try to work him out. Somehow he saw this though, surprising as it was, and his left eyebrow came up slightly, and the corner of his mouth became poised upon the edge of a sneer. Ginny wasn't sure why he did, but instead of that sneer his face returned to impassiveness, swiftly looking over her face before he gave to her the same nod he had shown to Zabini, grudgingly looking like some kind of respect. Surprised, but somehow not taken aback she returned it, and he returned his gaze to his own table and housemates.

So maybe she had undone a small knot in his personality. That part of him that knew that being apologetic about something so very obvious to the rest of the world as how intriguing he was hardly worth interest on his part. That it was only those who watched without judgement or malicious intent, or that of some kind of faded daydream of finding a way for him to notice them who he would see as worthy. Helped that she was a pureblood and he knew it, of course, but that was besides the point on some levels.

She turned away then, and back to the watching of people that she found easy to explain. Harry, whom now she saw almost the same as any other teenager - full of angst and woe, not without reason of course, but he would resolve that in his own time, albeit that he would continue to look as though he only slept four hours a night until then. Then again, she knew the boy went to bed later than she and woke up earlier, even when holidaying at The Burrow, so four hours was probably not an unjustified guess. Then there was Ron, still a boy like Harry, despite his desperate desire to be seen as a protector, a man, and a warrior. She would never tell him that it was the way he acted when not facing mortal peril that made him seem those things to her, of course. She still remembered the trepidation with which he would take her to their Mother to be healed if she fell over while playing as a child. He would act disinterested, but a small sigh of relief would still escape him when Molly would send them back outside afterwards. Still, she held out hope that one day he would realise it was in his character to be the shielding force for those he loved without him having to work at it. Hermione saw that of course, but it was her way to let the other two only be nudged towards their own realisations of these facts, unless she got really angry, in which case she was so bluntly honest towards whomever she was fighting with, Ron usually, that you couldn't help but back down from her, which meant she reverted back to her role as motherly Hermione, concerned for everyone and the authority on everything else. It was endearing though, and always a comfort to know who you could turn to for advice on, well, everything. But this was why Ginny always went back to Draco in her head. The others were so easy to work out, and Malfoy was never that, but always just... Malfoy.

That's the problem with enigmas, she mused. It's only when one is pointed out to you when you have to try and get to the bottom of it. She would have been quite happy to ignore his peculiarities, but it seemed that this puzzle would always find a way to be somewhere in her line of vision, quite literally. Outside classrooms, striding down corridors, making a scene about Harry or merely studying in the library, his books covering a table in neat piles while he carefully scraped quill against paper, his small printing impeccably filling up pages of notes. She had felt exasperated at the world at first for always seeing him somewhere near, but she had never had to hone her people-watching skills so much as to when she looked at him, so it grew to more of an amusing game after a while - like playing that strange muggle game Hermione had taught them one year on the train, Twenty Questions. Except this wasn't based on 'animal, mineral or vegetable?', but rather on whether today was a day where Draco would be angry and cruel, snarky and witty, or pleasantly quiet and diligent. It had to be said, angry and cruel appeared to be winning by a long shot at the moment.

Breakfast was over now, and the students made their way to their classes, Slytherins appropriately and fashionably at the back, in order to look as though it didn't matter what time they got there, as class couldn't possibly start without them anyway. Still thinking so intensely as to be in a manner hardly appropriate for that time in the morning, Ginny lagged behind a bit, and when his voice remarked: "If you must dawdle in doorways little Gryffindor, at least find time for it after the rest of us have left", she merely raised her vision to stare deep into those grey eyes, shifted slightly to the left, and let him pass, leaving him slightly confused as to the lack of fiery comeback from the girl, but at least leaving an impression upon him that she too was not as easy to bait as she seemed.

Ginny raised the corners of her mouth then. It looked as though today had stocked up another point for snarky and witty. Those were the best days anyway, really.


End file.
